


Kiss With A Fist (Is Better Than None)

by assholemurphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Angst, M/M, Modern AU, Not Beta Read, no happy ending sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3771154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assholemurphy/pseuds/assholemurphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically how I think a relationship between these two would go if they both had their season 1 personalities. Not set in Canon. No happy ending, abusive relationship, pov of the victim, so it's not happy or healthy and it may be triggering, so proceed with caution, cats.</p><p>Murphy leaves Bellamy after another fight (for the millionth time) and goes to Mbege's house intent on not coming back, but he's not really done, he's never done, he's always going back, because Bellamy loves him, even if his love hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss With A Fist (Is Better Than None)

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a HC I have that an actual Murphamy relationship would be incredibly unhealthy. I'm really sorry for what I've done to Murphy.

“Would you just stop it already?” The man yelled, pulling a handful of clothes out of the bag Murphy was packing. “You're not going anywhere, so just fucking quit it and sit your ass down!”

Murphy ignored him, stuffing another t-shirt into the bag. He was done, he couldn't take it anymore, he was better than this an he was leaving for good this time, dammit. He flinched, arm coming up to protect himself when Bellamy raised his hands, throwing them up in the air in exasperation.

“Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm not going to hit you, Murphy.” Bellamy spat, pissed at the obvious show of vulnerability.

Murphy said nothing, the bruises forming on his face saying different. He was done talking, done shouting, he wasn't even sure he could speak anymore, his throat felt like he'd swallowed fire. He knew for a fact he had at least three fractured ribs this time, and he wasn't sure what all else, but being thrown through a glass table couldn't be healthy.

Of course, Murphy knew he wasn't innocent. He'd thrown punches, too, landed a couple good ones, if Bellamy's nose was any indication. For all he knew, he'd thrown the first one, started it all. It wasn't Bellamy's fault he'd done the most damage, except that it was. They were both to blame. They did this far too often, fights starting over tiny things that neither of them really cared about, but it was an excuse to scream and yell and tear into each other, it was how they worked, or so Murphy had convinced himself.

“Stop packing, you're just going to come back in a couple days and you know it.” No, no he wasn't. He was going to leave for good this time, he'd come back later with Mbege to get the rest of his stuff, but this time he was done. He was done with Bellamy blaming him for things that weren't his fault, done with being yelled at over trivial things, done with having to cover his bruises up just to be able to go to work. Sure, he loved Bellamy, he really did, but this was too much.

“I'm not.” Murphy spoke quietly, his anger had faded into numbness long ago. He didn't want to leave Bellamy, but he had to. He wasn't going to stay and fight with him again, he wanted better for himself, and that mean leaving him, even though he loved him. He shook his head, zipping up his backpack, “I'm sorry, Bellamy.”

“Sorry? Murphy, you're not leaving! I'm not letting you!” Bellamy refused, grabbing Murphy's arm and shaking him. “You _can't_ leave, Murphy. I fucking love you, so don't leave me, please.”

Murphy looked at the floor, refusing to meet Bellamy's eyes. Bellamy wasn't lying, but that didn't mean he was going to stay. “I love you, too, but , Bell, this isn't, I can't do it, okay?”

Bellamy stared at him, eyes pleading before realizing Murphy wasn't going to change him mind and shoving him back, Murphy falling onto the bed with a soft grunt of pain. Yeah, he definitely had some cracked ribs. “Fine, whatever. You'll come back, you always do. You should be glad I don't change the fucking lock while you're gone.” Murphy watched as he stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him and retreating to the kitchen with a muffled, “I need a fucking drink.”

Murphy laid on the bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, ignoring the stinging bruise that signaled the beginning of a black eye. He'd have to leave before Bellamy got drunk. The asshole knew exactly how he felt about drunk people and how being around them made him incredibly anxious and how much he hated it and Murphy was convinced he did it on purpose, drinking just to get drunk because Murphy would stay and make sure he was okay because, god, he couldn't leave him and come back to find him- To find him-

And Bellamy fucking knew that.

There was a lot Bellamy knew and ignored, but it went both ways. They pushed each other on purpose, and in the beginning it had been fun, made for great makeup sex, but after a while the fights were less sexually charged and more violent, resulting in more than one trip to the ER, back when it was still a rare thing and Bellamy had cared about him. Now he was left to tend to his own wounds in the bathroom with a first aid kit bought specifically with that in mind. That should have been his first clue to get out, no, his first clue should have been the first time Bellamy hit him, but he hadn't cared. It was nice to have someone who told you they loved you and held you and made you feel like you mattered, it was enough to make up for everything else, Murphy thought.

Bellamy always apologized, too, even if Murphy rarely did, probably because most of their fights ended with Murphy being the one bleeding, not the other way around. Weak, that's what he was, not strong enough to properly fight back, not strong enough to really leave, he was weak. He'd left Bellamy twelve times over the past two years, staying at Mbege's house for a few nights before returning because he loved Bellamy and after a thinking on it, the fights always seemed to be his fault, though Mbege said different, but what did he know?

This time was different, though. This time Murphy wasn't coming back, he'd promised himself that the last time, when Bellamy had swore to never hit him again. That had been a month ago and Murphy had honestly thought things would change. Bellamy had been nicer, almost like he was when they first started dating, they'd gone on actual dates gain, cuddled on the couch watching shitty movies, it had been great, until it wasn't.

Lying around feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to help him, though, and he needed to leave before he could talk himself out of it, like he usually did. Because Bellamy loved him, he knew that, and Bellamy had been the first person to tell him that in  _so long_ that leaving seemed like a betrayal, like he was being selfish. Bellamy loved him and no one else did because he was unlovable and broken and he wasn't good for anyone, that was proven in how he'd ended up making Bellamy angry all the time.

He grabbed his bag with a sigh and left the room, glancing at Bellamy o the couch, glass of liquor in hand. Murphy wanted to apologize, to fall into him, say he was sorry and he'd be good, he wasn't going to leave, but he couldn't do that. He had to leave, he couldn't stay here. He deserved better. He had to believe he deserved better, even if he didn't.

“Where are you going to go?” Bellamy asked him, voice quiet as he stared at the blank TV screen. He sounded almost concerned and it just made the urge to stay that much stronger.

Murphy shrugged, digging his fingers into one of the bruises on his arm to remind himself of why he had to leave. Bellamy was not kind nor concerned about him. It was a lie, it always was. “I don't know.” He wasn't going to tell Bellamy where he was going, he'd made that mistake before and it had resulted in Bellamy showing up on Craig's doorstep, demanding to see him. Murphy had listened, Bellamy's apology was convincing enough, and he'd went home again. After that he'd had to switch from Craig and Richard's place to Jaha's whenever Mbege was gone. Jaha hadn't questioned it, but Wells had, and Murphy had told him to fuck off and gave some excuse about a bar fight or something, he couldn't remember exactly. Wells had believed him, Jaha hadn't, but he'd never said anything direct about it, instead slipping Murphy a key for whenever he might need it. Murphy had been equal parts offended and grateful.

“Be safe.” Bellamy told him. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Murphy did know it, but it wasn't the type of love he wanted. “Love you, too.”

“Then stay.”

“No.” He closed the door behind him, the sound of Bellamy's glass shattering against the wood making him jump away from it. Why'd he have to piss Bellamy off again? _Fuck,_ he couldn't even leave right.

Ten minutes later, he'd boarded the subway, on route to Mbege's house two cities over. It wouldn't be that long of a ride, but he wondered if he could take a nap, he was incredibly tired. He doubted it, though, as the ride wouldn't last more than twenty minutes and he really didn't want to miss is stop and get lost somewhere.

He settled into his seat, setting his bag in the seat next to him, he wasn't really up for company right now and didn't really care if he was being rude or not. However, if the looks he'd received from the other passengers meant anything, he wouldn't have to worry about any of them coming anywhere near him. He wasn't sure if it was the bruises or the fact that he probably looked like a serial killer, something that tended to happen when he was near tears. He wasn't going to cry, no matter how much he wanted to, not in public and not over Bellamy. He grit his teeth as they began to move, hurtling towards his destination, farther away from Bellamy.

Maybe this was a stupid idea, maybe he should have just stayed. He was constantly running away from things he couldn't handle instead of standing up and dealing with them. Maybe he should have just apologized and gone to bed, they would have worked it out in the morning like always. Well, if you counted not talking about it at all and pretending it never happened and that they were fine as working it out, which Murphy did. He'd rather ignore the fight in favor of breakfast and early morning kisses before Bellamy took off to give another lecture, leaving Murphy alone for two hours before he started his shift at the record store. They'd pretend it didn't happen, Bellamy would return home and hour after Murphy and they'd eat and spend the rest of the night on the couch, it was boring, but Murphy had enjoyed the calm, probably because the rest of the time it was like he'd been sucked into a storm and there was no way out, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to be free of it, anyway.

No one had ever treated him like Bellamy had, like he was a precious thing, like he was fragile and perfect and worth something, and Murphy had fallen in love with that, with being loved, with Bellamy, but it hadn't lasted. They'd been together three months when Bellamy had fist lost his temper. Sure, they'd fought before, little quarrels over who forgot to buy milk last or who's turn it was to do the dishes, but it had never been physical. Bellamy had immediately apologized and held him tight, promising to never lose his temper like that again, an Murphy had believed him.

He'd lied. He hadn't made mush of an effort to keep himself under control after that, and Murphy had rolled with it. He understood fighting, he understood violence and fists and shouting, and if that was how Bellamy wanted to show his love, that was okay. Until it wasn't. Until Murphy had ended up being pushed down the stairway in their apartment building. Until the bruises stopped being kissed away with quiet apologies and the love blended into hate and it was nothing but anger, anger, anger, all the time. Until Murphy wasn't sure Bellamy still loved him, his only reassurance coming when Bellamy told him he did, usually in effort to stop Murphy from leaving. Most of the time it worked.

He sat there, staring out the window at the darkness, illuminated sporadically by flashes of bright lights as they passed other stations. There were no stops before is, which he was thankful for. All he wanted was to get to Mbege's, take a shower, and then crash. The lectures could wait until morning, if there was a lecture, the last few times Murphy had left Bellamy, Mbege hadn't commented, just letting Murphy in and fixing him up, ignoring any protests Murphy made against it. He wasn't a child, he could take care of himself, he didn't need to be coddled.

Of course, it wasn't that he was unappreciative, he was grateful to Mbege for helping him out. They'd been best friends for years and Murphy had lost count of how many times Mbege had helped patch him up after a fight, the only difference between then and now is that Murphy used to fight back, used to believe that fight was worth it. Now it was just a routine he lived with. It was like being twelve years old again, is mother getting drunk and screaming, blaming him for his father's death, for her getting fired -which had less to do with Murphy and more to do with the fact that showing up drunk was unprofessional but, then again, she only started drinking because his dad died, so, maybe that was his fault, too- and just about anything else she could find to blame him for, and if she dropped a bottle and he fell into the broken glass, well, tat was his fault, too. She never willingly hurt him, she wouldn't have, she loved him, just like Bellamy. Maybe that was what love was.

After exiting the train, he walked the rest of the way to Mbege's, his ribs sore and bruises aching with every step he took. He supposed he was lucky, nothing was completely broken this time, but he swore he could feel a piece of glass still stuck in his back, he hadn't bothered to check before he left, adrenaline running high and numbing the pain, but now, with the pain setting in, he could feel it. He'd ask Mbege to look at it for him, might as well, he'd do it anyway.

He took a shuddering breath as he stood outside Mbege's house, it was late but he knew he wouldn't mind. Murphy was always welcome, whether it was one in the afternoon or four in the morning, covered in blood or in handcuffs, he'd spent most of his teen years here, after Mbege's parents had taken him in after his mother's death, Mbege wouldn't turn him away, but still, Murphy swallowed thickly, knocking on the door. He had a key, but it was late and he knew Mbege kept a gun near his bed and as much as Murphy hated himself at times, he'd rather not go out that way.

The porch light temporarily blinded him, leaving him blinking owlishly as Mbege opened the door. “Again?” He asked, his tone soft, more concerned than accusing. “Come on, then. I'll get the kit.”

“Sorry.” Murphy muttered, following after the man and dropping his bag on the couch.

“Shut up.” Mbege sighed, disappearing into the bathroom to get the first aid kit he kept on hand. He liked to say it was because he used to be a boy scout and preparedness and all that, but Murphy knew different. It was the same plastic ox covered with Marvel superheroes that had shown up after the first time his mother had thrown a bottle at him and he'd come over with a gash on his cheek. Murphy shucked off his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing them both on the back of the couch. He couldn't see it, but he felt what seemed to be a thousand tiny cuts from the glass on his back. “The fuck did he do to you, Murphy?”

“Nothing. I tripped and fell into a glass table.”

Mbege set the box down on the coffee table, shaking his head. “Don't lie to me, I'm not stupid enough to believe that shit. He pushed you into it, didn't he? What else?”

“Sorry, force of habit. I've got a few bruises. I think I've got a couple cracked ribs, but I'm not sure if it's from the table or the wall.”

“Jesus, Murphy.”

“Just fix it, okay?” He didn't want to talk to Mbege about it, he didn't get it. He didn't understand what it was like to be hated by literally _everyone_ and then, just when you'd finally accepted it as fact, having someone care about you like Bellamy did. Sure, it was violent, but Murphy wasn't exactly a gentle person to begin with, so, maybe it was just what he deserved. Gentle kisses and early morning cuddles were for people who hadn't killed their fathers, who hadn't drove their mother's to drink themselves to death because he was such a burden. Maybe if he had died that night instead of his father, they'd both still be alive and happy, and Bellamy would probably found someone who didn't bring out the worst in him, because after all, it was Murphy's fault. He was too loud, too rough, his edges were too sharp and his walls too think. He wasn't easy to love and Bellamy was doing his best, it wasn't his fault Murphy was cold and broken.

Mbege sighed but complied, cleaning the cuts and plucking out the few bits of glass stuck in is skin. He hissed in pain when Mbege applied the antiseptic but calmed when Mbege began to blow on the stinging skin, stopping it from burning so badly. Murphy wanted to complain that he wasn't a child and didn't need to be treated like one, but he didn't have it in him. Mbege bandaged him up before having him stand, pressing on his chest gently, accessing the damage, muttering quiet apologies whenever Murphy winced. He nodded to himself when he was finished and headed to the kitchen, Murphy staring after him, understanding dawning when he heard the tap turn on. A moment later Mbege handed him a glass of water and dug out a couple Tylenol, handing the over with a look that promised trouble if Murphy dare refuse. He wasn't going to, it hurt and he had no desire to suffer.

“Thanks.” Murphy told him after he'd downed the pills and half the water. “Sorry for showing up so late.”

“It's fine.” Mbege shrugged, cleaning up the trash and packing up the kit. “You should sleep, you can shower in the morning, but I don't think putting water on your back is a good idea right now.” Which would explain why Mbege had bandaged him up before anything else, unlike he usually did.

“Yeah, okay.” Murphy nodded, grabbing his stuff and heading to his room. It hadn't changed much from when he'd first moved in, Mbege had let him keep it even after he'd moved away, a place to go when he needed it, he just underestimated how often Murphy would need it, not that he minded.

If Mbege had his way, Murphy wouldn't leave again, he'd stay and heal completely and realize Bellamy was an ass and that he deserved better. He knew why Murphy went back, it wasn't that hard to figure out. The kid was starved for affection and would take it in any form he could get, even if it hurt. That's how he was raised, believing love hurt and that it was okay, even though it wasn't, and he refused to listen to Mbege when he told him otherwise.

_'You don't get it, Mbege, he does love me, I'm just hard to love.'_

_'He's a really sweet guy, he is, I just bring out the worst in him, it's okay. I'm trying to do better.'_

_'It's fine, Mbege. I'm fine. He's the first person to love me, okay? I can handle a few bad days.'_

A few bad days had turned into nearly two years of finding Murphy broken and bleeding on his doorstep. This wasn't love, this was Bellamy using love as an excuse to beat the shit out of Murphy whenever he got the chance and then blaming Murphy when he fought back or got angry. Murphy was wrong about what it was, and he was wrong about Bellamy being the first person to love him. Mbege was that person, he always had been, but he didn't love Murphy the right way, the way Murphy needed, he guessed. He had tried, but they hadn't worked out, Mbege loved to hard and Murphy had nearly suffocated underneath it. He still loved him, it just wasn't romantic, but Murphy had this idea in his head of some fairytale romance he was never going to get and that was all that mattered to him and Mbege couldn't help him. He also wasn't allowed to hurt Bellamy, because the last time he'd tried, Murphy had come to him, obviously hurt, and told him to mind his own business. Mbege hadn't seen Murphy for two months after that, so he'd learned not to try to help, it wasn't worth losing Murphy over, even if it killed him seeing his friend like this. If he ever got the chance, he'd kill Bellamy, he wouldn't hesitate.

He retreated to his own room and crawled back into bed, hoping that this time as the last and Murphy had finally come to his senses. He doubted it.

* * *

            Morning came and Murphy, hair still wet from his shower, picked at his breakfast in silence, examining each bite before putting it in his mouth, drawing out the affair far more than necessary.

“Murphy, stop playing with your food.” Mbege scolded, frowning.

“Sorry.” Murphy muttered, ceasing his examination of his eggs and ducking his head.

“Fuck, man, what'd he do to you?” Mbege wondered, shaking his head in disbelief. Usually his scolding would have been met with a 'fuck you' or simply ignored, but Murphy was acting like he was afraid to make Mbege angry. That, itself, made him angry, but not at Murphy. To watch his best friend, who had once been so loud and outgoing, a little broken and rough around the edges, sure, but fiery and full of life, act so timid, like he was tiptoeing his way through life, it wasn't right.

“Stuff.” Murphy shrugged. They'd had this conversation before, Murphy lists the things Bellamy did to him, Mbege fixes him, Murphy heals, life goes on. He didn't understand the point of the question.

“Yeah, well, he shouldn't be doing anything to you. Shouldn't be around you.”

“And what do I do then, huh?”

“You live! You stop acting like a broken toy and get better! Fuck, Murphy, when's the last time you smiled, huh? The last time you did something you wanted just because you wanted to? What the hell is wrong with you?” Mbege raised his voice, enraged by the thought of Murphy staying with that ass. “He's abusive and you know it and you deserve better, dammit!”

“I'm sorry. Please don't yell.” Murphy begged quietly, as if he were afraid the request would cause more anger. “And I don't.”

“You do. You do, Murphy, you do.” Mbege dropped his voice, mad at himself for upsetting Murphy. “And stop apologizing, you've done nothing to be sorry for.”

“Sor- Okay.” Murphy caught himself and nodded. “I'm not hungry, can I watch TV?”

“It's still your house, too, bud, you can do as you please.”

“Okay.” Murphy got up, scraping his plate in the trash and placing it in the sink for Mbege to do, looking to him for confirmation that it was okay.

“Remote's in the thing.” Mbege called to him, receiving a nod in return. God, that kid was even more fucked up than Mbege remembered. He'd never known Murphy to ask permission for something as trivial as TV, it was so wrong and out of place, and if he apologized _one more time_ Mbege was likely to fall apart. Murphy rarely apologized for anything, and now it seemed like he was programmed to do nothing else. If Mbege ever caught Bellamy in a dark alley, the guy was dead.

Maybe he should call someone, Clarke, maybe, she was in med school, she might be able to help Murphy. She'd never believe what was happening to him, of course, because Bellamy wasn't that kind of guy, not around their friends, well, Bellamy's friends. Murphy had always been on the edges of their friend group, he'd never really fit in with them, but he'd hung out with them for Bellamy. Bellamy acted so charming and kind around them all, he was a gentleman, told funny jokes, made polite conversation, _their_ Bellamy wasn't _Murphy's_ Bellamy. Maybe that's why Murphy was convinced it was his fault. It wasn't, he didn't deserve it and he had every right to fight back, even if Bellamy said otherwise.

“Hey, Mbege, you think I could stay here a few more days?” Murphy wasn't ready to go back home and face Bellamy, he didn't want to go back at all, he'd meant it when he'd said it was the last time, but he'd have to go get his stuff eventually.

“You can stay as long as you want.” Mbege told him, collapsing onto the couch next to him. “What are we watching?”

“Cartoons?”

“Awesome.”

_-_-_-_

Murphy stayed for a week and a half -calling into work and taking time off, saying he was sick, nobody questioned it, they weren't that busy, anyway- before he got the text from Bellamy. The one Mbege knew was coming, it always came and it always convinced Murphy, so when his phone went off, that cheesy love song playing for Bellamy, Mbege froze, watching Murphy, waiting for him to say the words Mbege dreaded hearing.

“He says he's sorry, should I believe him?” Was what he got instead, causing hope to flood his veins. Maybe Murphy was serious about leaving him this time.

“No,” Mbege told him, honestly. “He fucked you up bad, Murphy.”

“Yeah, but I've done worse, you know.” This was nothing compared to some of the fights he'd been in before he met Bellamy. He'd been to the ER so many times the nurses joked about getting him a frequent flier card, until it was Bellamy and not some drunk fucker beating on him, then the jokes stopped and the whispers started. Murphy hadn't been back to that ER in over a year, Bellamy took him to different ones, instead. He knew exactly what he was doing, Murphy was under no illusion. Bellamy was abusive, but he was also _his._

“Yeah, but that doesn't make it okay.”

“Says he loves me. That he'll stop, get help.” Murphy mumbled, staring at the brightly lit screen.

“He's lying.”

“I know.”

“Are you going back?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“He loves me.” Murphy answered, slowly typing out a text. “That's not a lie.”

“He's just going to keep hurting you.” Mbege tried to reason with him, but he knew it was no use.

“It's okay.”

“It's not.”

“He loves me, Mbege, who else can say the same?”

“I can.”

Murphy stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head, “That's different.”

“So you're really going back.”

“Yeah.” Murphy pressed send, letting Bellamy know he'd be back within the hour. “I'm going now.”

“My door's open next time you need it.” Because there was always a next time, Bellamy wasn't going to stop and Murphy wasn't going to stop going back.

“Okay.” He didn't want to believe he'd need it. Maybe this time would be different, maybe this time Bellamy would change, and maybe there were little elves that controlled streetlights.

* * *

 

“You're back.” Bellamy smiled, looking relieved to see Murphy standing in the living room. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too.” Murphy returned the smile, letting Bellamy wrap his arms around him, holding him close.

“I'm sorry, Murph, I won't do it again. I love you.”

_Yes, you will._ Murphy ignored the thought, instead allowing himself to relax in Bellamy's arms. “I love you, too.” 

He was back, he belonged here, with Bellamy. They were both violent and destructive and angry and neither one of them was any good for anyone else, hell, they weren't even good for each other. Bellamy was controlling and abusive and Murphy was broken and dying for someone to care about him, even if it was only an act, and Bellamy gave that to him, so he would give Bellamy what he could. He would do better this time, make him less angry, maybe they'd be okay.

They wouldn't, and no amount of denial could make that a reality, but it didn't stop Murphy from falling into bed with Bellamy, finding some peace in between the 'oh gods' and 'Murphys.' This was where he belonged, where he could be good, make up sex was the best part, after all, and he would beg and keen and hold Bellamy tighter, closer, because this was as close to love as he was going to get and he had to convince himself it was enough, it was what he deserved.

It wouldn't be long before the apologetic and caring touches turned into fists again, and when it did, Murphy would take it, fighting back like he always did, and they would break themselves and each other because this was what they did, it was all Murphy knew. It was twisted and broken and cut deep, leaving scars he'd carry forever, but he would bear them because Bellamy loved him, Bellamy needed him, because they were together and he belonged to Bellamy and it felt good just to belong somewhere, to have someone, anyone  _want_ him for once. He'd keep coming back, because the fists weren't enough to break the twisted admiration he had for the man. He was in love and it wasn't healthy, it was horrifying and painful, but he needed Bellamy, needed to be loved, even if it hurt.

So the next time Bellamy got drunk and Murphy had to stay up all night watching over him, the next time he got angry turned to Murphy to let it out, or the next time Murphy ended up bleeding in the bathroom, he'd clean himself up and he'd go on, because it wasn't a good love, no, but it was  _their_ love, and Murphy was convinced he deserved no better than this.

It was twisted and broken, but so was he, and he would stay, because Bellamy said he loved him, and that was more than anyone else had ever given him. HE was scared of being alone again, scared of being nothing, so he would stay and he would love Bellamy and he would give him all he could because he was hard to love and he knew that and he owed Bellamy for trying. No one else had ever tried to love him and it hurt to be loved, but Murphy had been lonely and cast out for so long, he'd take what he could get. Bellamy didn't mean to hurt him, he was trying to love him, but Murphy was hard to love, it was his fault, Bellamy told him so.

Their love was fucked up and twisted and bastardized to the point of being hate, but it was still more than Murphy had ever expected to have, so he was going to stay, because as broken as their love was, it was  _theirs_ and Murphy was sure even worse off without Bellamy, he was sure.

He would always stay until Bellamy left him, and then he'd be broken and alone again, so he wouldn't complain, he would live with it, because he didn't want to be alone again. He needed Bellamy, so he would take the anger and the insults and the violence, because violent love was still love, and that's what Murphy needed most.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is loved. Find me here: [assholemurphy](http://assholemurphy.tumblr.com/)


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